Chapter 12 - Tuesdays were Alex’s days.
He arrived at exactly 4:00 PM. Never 3:59. Never 4:01. He was trying so hard to be perfect, to follow the invisible rules we had laid out in mediation.
I opened the door. He stood in the hallway, wearing civilian clothes—jeans and a gray sweater.
"Hi, Lucy," he said.
"Hi. Come in."
He stepped inside, taking off his shoes without being asked. Clara was in her high chair, smashing peas into the tray. When she saw him, she shrieked, kicking her little legs.
Alex’s face transformed. The heavy, guilty look he always wore around me vanished, replaced by pure, unguarded joy.
"Hey, bug," he said, walking over and lifting her out of the chair, ignoring the peas smearing onto his sweater.
I stood by the sink, wiping down the counters.
I watched them.
It didn't hurt the way it used to. The sharp, breathless agony of a broken family had dulled into a flat, quiet acceptance. He was a good father to her. He was present. He was patient.
He just hadn't been a good husband to me.
Both things could be true.
"We’re going to the park," Alex said, grabbing the diaper bag I had packed. "I'll have her back by six."
"Okay."
He paused at the door, shifting Clara on his hip.
"Lucy?"
"Yes?"
"Thank you. For this."
"Just bring her back by six, Alex."
May you like
He nodded. The door clicked shut.
I was alone in the quiet apartment. I didn't cry. I made a cup of tea.
